Little More Than Faith
by CelticGirl8705
Summary: How does Roger know that Mark has an inability to hold an erection on the high holy days as stated in La Vie Boheme? PreRENT, MarkRoger, very fluffy!
1. Shabbat

Hey readers! (and hopefully reviewers too!) This is my first Rent-fic, I'd really appreciate your comments. It takes place the summer before the gang meets Angel and Mimi, though they may be making some AU appearances later. Roger has just gotten over withdrawal, and Mark has just been dumped by Maureen. MarkRoger, rated T for Roger's mouth, my mouth, and because it's Rent!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to the late, great, Jonathan Larson.

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Mark had never been a highly religious person, he just had his own little ways of practicing his faith. Roger never gave a second thought to why Mark always lit a few candles on Friday nights until one hot summer night. That night, late in June, was uncomfortably hot and humid. It had been a long winter, made even longer by the pain of withdrawal, and as Roger plucked idly at his guitar, he tried to remember the last time he hadn't been cold. Even in the summer, the steel and concrete of the loft held a damp coolness.

The midsummer sun was level with the loft's windows, causing orange sunset light to fill the loft with a glow that was warmer even than the stifling temperatures. Jumping down from the metal table he sat on, he went over to the window that led out to the fire escape and climbed out onto what he liked to think of as their private balcony. When the weather was bearable, this was Roger's favorite place to sit and think, or strum out a few tunes. Although Alphabet City was dirty and grungy, the view from up here was one of the best. It was high enough that you didn't notice the filth covering the streets, and the incessant yelling and noise that was Alphabet City's soundtrack was only a gentle hum down below.

There was a slight breeze that blew his hair back from his face. He hardly had enough money for food, let alone a haircut, and there was no way he trusted Mark or Collins coming anywhere near him with a pair of scissors, so his hair had grown out and had become unruly. Brown roots were growing in under the bleached blondeness, and with all the weight he had lost from being in withdrawal and never having food anyway, he looked like a shadow of his former self.

_The rock-god_, he thought bitterly. _People don't worship you when they find out about all the problems you've got. When they find out you're just as fucked up as the rest of them._

Mark hurried around the corner, glad to see the familiar rise of the Avenue B building he called home. He had completely lost track of time until he wound the last reel of film through his camera, and looked up to see the sun sitting low in the sky.

_It's Friday. Shit._

Hands stuffed in pockets, shoulders hunched, he darted through alleys and around corners until he reached the familiarity of Alphabet City. Roger would probably kill him if he knew he'd been taking shortcuts through some of the most dangerous alleys in the city, but Mark didn't care. He needed to get home.

He stopped to let an old junker car chug down the street, making coughing and choking sounds as it went. As he crossed the street, he absentmindedly looked up at their fire escape and stopped. All previous thought abandoned his mind. There was Roger, leaning against the railing, guitar in one hand, sunlight in his hair. He looked amazing. Mark squinted for a better look and thought he saw the slightest hints of a contented smile pull at Roger's lips. The first one he'd seen in months, since April died.

_Roger's lips…_

The old tattered jeans hung off his hips, and the black Led Zepplin shirt hugged his body in all the right places. His beautiful green eyes were just observing, soaking up the city sunset. Mark felt his heart beat a little faster, and had a sudden urge to reveal the feelings he'd been harboring for his roommate right then and there, Romeo and Juliet style, with his love up on the balcony. Forget vines and trellises, he would scale the rusted old fire escape to the top floor, into his lover's strong, waiting arms, and lean in for a passionate-

HONK!

Mark jumped as the speeding car came barreling toward him, and only then realized he'd been standing in the middle of the street, gaping up at Roger like a fool.

_A fool in love._

The car horn startled Roger out of his reverie, and he looked down to see Mark sprinting to the curb to avoid the passing car, the driver flipping Mark the bird as he continued down the street. He smiled inwardly at the sight of his scrawny roommate dashing in the door of their building, and with a final sigh, walked back in from the fire escape.

_He's home. Finally._

As Mark scrambled up the stairs, he remembered why he had been in such a hurry to get home in the first place. He had to light the candles. Oh, but why did Roger have to look that good tonight? Mark had tried to deny his feelings for his roommate and best friend, but he realized he was just denying the truth. He had feelings for Roger, and more than just friendly best friend feelings.

_Oh, way more than friendly best friend feelings. Best friends don't long for a touch, a kiss, a look that has so much meaning behind it._

Mark wasn't even sure when the feelings had started. He remembered sitting there one night in the winter, holding Roger close as he shivered through the withdrawal, and as his mind wandered from one fleeting thought to another, it came to the wonderment that Roger's skin felt awfully good against his own. And then it progressed to wonder what those lips would feel like against his skin, his tongue exploring every crevice of Marks mouth. As if it was the most natural thought in the world. And Mark found himself enjoying this particular daydream, until common sense kicked in and he became conscious of exactly what those thoughts meant.

_I'm not gay! _That was the obvious first reaction. _Oh my god, what if I'm gay?_ The second stage of the process. And then the realization that this wasn't the first time thoughts like this had crept into his meandering mind. Even if it was marveling at just how green Roger's eyes were, or thinking that his ass looked particularly nice in that pair of jeans, or suppressing an urge to run his hands over that ripped chest and pull that too-tight shirt up over his head to expose his entire-

_Where did these come from! I'm practically having sexual fantasies about my best friend!_

Mark snapped out of this thought process for what he was sure was the millionth time today and climbed the last few steps to the loft. He slid the heavy metal door open to reveal Roger sitting on the beat up old couch, guitar in his lap, piecing together random chords to create something of an easygoing melody.

The sun had sunk behind some of the skyscrapers in the distance, causing long shadows to creep across the loft floor and up the wall. Mark threw down his camera bag and grabbed his scarf off the hook on the wall, which he promptly draped over his shoulders. This earned a confused look from Roger, who only became more perplexed when Mark opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a few stubs of candles and a book of matches.

"Uh, Mark?"

"Oh, hey Rog, how was your-"

"Mark, what the _fuck _are you doing?"

Mark glanced up, lit match in hand. "What?"

Roger stared incredulously, before stating what he thought was rather obvious.

"It's like a hundred fuckin' degrees out there, on one of the longest days of the year, and you're wrapping up in your scarf and lighting candles?"

Mark gave him a confused look before understanding. For as many times as he had done this, he thought Roger would have caught on by now and had just never asked about his strange little Friday night ritual.

"I'll explain in a sec. I just…I thought you got it a long time ago."

Roger continued to watch in confusion and almost horror as Mark lit the candles, and began muttering under his breath in some strange language. Mark then closed his eyes for a few seconds, hands pressed together, and when he opened them to take in the glow of the sun dipping below the horizon, he only saw Roger. Roger, who looked like he'd just seen the ghost of their former landlord, hands clutching the neck of his guitar like a security blanket.

"Haha, aww Rog, it's not that bad, I swear!" Mark chuckled as he took in the absolute ridiculousnss of Roger's expression, and could only imagine what kind of thoughts Roger was entertaining at the moment.

"Would you care to explain yourself?" Roger practically whimpered.

Mark just laughed harder as he hung his scarf back on its hook by the door.

"It's Shabbat." Absolutely no response or change of expression from Roger. "You know, the Jewish Sabbath? Rog, are you completely serious that you have no idea what I'm doing or what I'm talking about?" Roger just nodded dumbly. Mark sighed and walked over to the couch. He jerked his head to invite Roger into the empty space next to him. When they were both sitting cross-legged facing each other, Mark began to explain the Jewish ritual to his best friend like he would explain it to a little child.

"Okay, well the Jewish Sabbath, or Shabbat, starts at sundown on Friday, and lasts until sundown on Saturday. It symbolizes the day of rest that God took at the end of the week when he created the world. To mark the beginning of Shabbat, we light Shabbat candles and say a few prayers." He looked expectantly at Roger for some sign of understanding. Roger just got more curious.

"Okay, but that doesn't explain the scarf, or the weird muttering in strange languages, or how 'bout the fact that I've never seen this before?"

"I use the scarf as a makeshift shawl. See, there's a special one that Jewish men are supposed to wear one when they light the candles, but when I got to the city after I left home, I realized that it was something I didn't bring, so I had to use the next best thing, which was Scarfy over there." Mark looked lovingly over his shoulder at the scarf and smirked. "As for the muttering, I was saying prayers in Hebrew. And I was sure you'd seen me do this before, I do it every Friday night. I did it my room at first, 'cause I didn't really want anyone seeing me do it, but once I got more comfortable in this place and when we needed the candles for when the power was off, I just kept them out here and started doing it out here."

"Oh…wow, I had no idea you were so religious! Geez, makes me feel guilty, like I should go to church on Sunday or something…" Roger trailed off.

Mark stood up and moved back to where the candles were still burning on the table. He gently blew each one out, and then placed them back in their place in the drawer.

"Normally I'd let them burn longer, but I don't have any more and can't afford to buy any more either. And I'm really not _that_ religious, I just feel the need to practice my faith a little bit. Besides, it's easier to do this than get up in the morning for Temple. I don't even know where the nearest Temple is!"

Roger laughed a little before looking at Mark from this new perspective. Maybe this was Mark's way of making up for the life that they lived. Maybe this was his own personal way of making everything alright with the Powers That Be. It made Roger think so much higher of him, like he wasn't worthy to be his roommate, because since April died and since the withdrawal, he hadn't really had faith in anything. Except Mark, who apparently had more faith than Roger thought possible.

"Wow, it's so hot in here…too bad we can't bottle up this heat and save it for the winter," Mark mused.

"Yeah, you should have been in here around 4, it was like…too hot for clothes, I just wandered around in my underwear until…" Roger stopped when he saw Mark's face go scarlet. "Um, you okay?"

"Uh, yeah, I…uh, it's the heat…you know, it's gettin' to me…I was out in it all day and…y'know…it was…hot…" The last few words came out as Roger peeled off his shirt, and for the second time in minutes, Mark lost all conscious thought due to Roger's form. He just gaped at his gorgeous body for a few seconds before realizing that he was staring, slack jawed and bug-eyed. He quickly recovered before Roger saw him, and felt the sudden need to have something in his hands to fiddle with, like his camera.

"So, uh…do anything interesting today?" Mark attempted to start another conversation, trying to force from his mind the image of Roger sauntering around the loft in nothing but his underwear.

Roger's face fell a bit, and Mark realized that Roger hadn't exactly left the loft in months, and thus, really didn't do anything interesting.

"I worked on a song a little…but I think I'm gonna scrap it…it's complete shit anyway…everything I do is complete shit."

Mark felt his heart got out to him. _No it's not. You seemed like you were actually kind of enjoying yourself out on the fire escape earlier. You need to get over April. You need something new and good in you life…or someone…someone like me…_

Everything that Mark wanted to say to Roger, but couldn't, raced through his mind at that moment, and the last strain of this thought startled him. Did he really want Roger like that? Did he want more than just a physical relationship? He needed to get out of this room, now, before he did something he regretted.

"Uh, well, I'm gonna hit the sack…I'm pretty tired, I was all over the city today. So um…g-goodnight," Mark stammered as he retreated into his bedroom. He closed his door fast. So fast that he missed the crestfallen, disappointed look that came over Roger's face as Mark left his sight.

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I'll try to have the next chapter up ASAP, but knowing my schedule, no guarantees. Now go review!


	2. You sleep in the nude?

Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 1 "Shabbat" and made my day. I have no idea how much time there will be between chapters (I swear the one day turnaround for this one is a fluke), but I promise to update as soon as I can.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to the late, great, Jonathan Larson.

Roger rolled over and stared at the ceiling. He had hoped that once Mark got home they could just hang out like they used to. However, with this sudden religious side of Mark revealed, not to mention the fact that Mark was acting strange, he was a little apprehensive about hanging out and talking for fear that a really deep subject would come up. He wanted to say that he didn't know why that scared him, but deep down, he knew.

_God, I'm so far below him. He's standing there, praying for who knows what, probably all of us, and all I can think about is how much I want him to open those big blue eyes and look straight into mine._

Unbeknownst to Mark, the support he had given Roger during withdrawal had been the most amazing thing in the world for Roger. He'd had girlfriends before, of course, but none had cared so deeply about him in such a dire time of need. Mark was there, doing everything necessary and within his power to make sure Roger got clean. Sure, Roger had wanted to hurt him when Mark locked him in his room, refusing to let him out when Roger begged for one last hit. But on those freezing cold nights, when the chills and shivers spasmed through his weak body and he thought he would never be warm again, he would feel a warm body press against his, warm arms wrap around him, and he felt the most indescribable comfort radiating from Mark. Later in the withdrawal, he would feel a pang of guilt when he exaggerated his symptoms just so Mark would hold him, whisper sweet, comforting words in his ear, and run his hand soothingly through Roger's mess of hair.

And like Mark, Roger didn't want to admit his feelings to himself, let alone anyone else. But he had always been bad a hiding his emotions, and when he stared longingly at the door after Mark went out one day recently, Collins, who was home for a few days from MIT, couldn't help but ask.

_Flashback…._

"That's so cute. You miss him already." Collins giggled like a little girl.

"What? No! I don't…I mean, he's just going…what? Stop looking at me like that!" It was the first obvious sign that Collins had hit a hidden truth. Roger got flustered.

"Alright, whatever you say boy, but I've seen that look before."

"What look?"

"That look that you're giving the door. That look that is practically begging the person you love to walk through it, and seeing as how the only person likely to be coming through that door anytime soon is Mark, I'm gonna make a few assumptions."

Collins wondered if he'd said too much when a look of confusion mixed with fear came over Roger's face. Roger blinked rapidly a few times, his mouth opening and closing with no words coming out, and then he stopped and looked at Collins. His eyes were wide as though he was looking at the world for the very first time, and a smile crept onto Collins face. Before he could speak though, Roger had jumped up from the couch and began pacing.

"Oh my god…Mark…Collins, does this mean…I mean, I'm not! But I've never felt…it's Mark! I can't…but…I think I…" He stopped and looked again at Collins, who folded his arms and pursed his lips.

"You're not making any sense boy. Why don't you engage your brain and then speak?" he asked, as if it was the obvious solution to Roger's inability to form coherent sentences.

Roger blew out an exasperated sigh and flopped back down on the couch.

"Collins…I think that…oh geez, I think I might have…feelings…for Mark." Roger stated, though it was clear that he was struggling with this new realization.

"Well I'd say so!" This earned him an incredulous stare. "Look, Rog, you and I both know that you've been clinging to him like Velcro since you went through withdrawal. Not that that's a bad thing! But you need to come to terms with whatever's going on inside that head of yours."

_What's going on inside my head? What's going on is that I'm having a complete sexuality crisis, not to mention I think I have a crush on my best friend._

A crush. That was something he hadn't thought about since high school.

_Adults don't have crushes on people…do they?_

"Roger, you know I accept you however and for whatever you are. And, to be perfectly honest…I think Mark does too. You just gotta have a little faith that things will turn out the way they're supposed to be."

_End Flashback…_

There it was again. Faith. Maybe the guys had a point. Maybe he needed to believe in something to get him through the hard times.

_Or someone._

Roger suddenly felt the unappeasable and unmistakable need to be near Mark. To hold him, to be held, to just have that skin-to-skin contact. It was so electrifying to feel Mark's hand rub along his back or gently drag through his bleached hair. His skin would tingle all over, and a few times it even gave him goosebumps. Mark, of course, always thought that the goosebumps were from the cold, and would continue to wrap him in warm comfort with his body.

Roger jumped out of bed and walked out of his bedroom. He cautiously crept to Mark's door, and raised his hand to knock.

A frustrated sigh escaped Mark's lips. It was one of those nights that was too hot and muggy to sleep. He had kicked every blanket and sheet off of his bed, and when that didn't help, he stripped every piece of clothing from his body. He was still covered in sweat, tossing and turning on the uncomfortable old mattress. Somehow the heat and the fact that sleep was eluding him made the mattress seem more uncomfortable than usual.

He started thinking of ways to get to sleep. He had tried counting sheep, to no avail. A cup of warm milk was out of the question, since he wanted nothing touching him that was warmer than the air already was. Plus, he wasn't sure how old the milk in the fridge was anyway. All of a sudden, a dirty thought crossed his mind. It had worked before, and he wanted sleep so badly. As he closed his eyes for the hundredth time that night, the image of Roger on the fire escape earlier burned against his eyelids. He smiled and his hands, resting on his stomach, slowly inched lower, caressing over his hipbones. In his mind, Roger climbed down the fire escape, moving slowly and seductively. Mark felt a stirring of feeling somewhere below the waist. Imagined-Roger, now in front of Mark, grabbed his hips and lowered his mouth to Mark's neck. Mark subconsciously rolled his head to one side, in his mind giving Roger plenty of room to leave little kisses and love-bites. He let out a soft moan as one hand found its goal. Imagined-Roger moved higher up Mark's neck, along his jawline, his tongue stroking the corner of Mark's mouth, going in for the –

Knock. Knock-knock.

Mark's eyes sprang wide open.

_What the hell?_

"M-Mark? You awake?" A soft voice drifted through the closed door. That voice made Mark's heart skip a beat.

"Rog? What are you doing up?"

"I-" _Shit! I need an excuse…something, anything…_ "I couldn't sleep…I was thinking about April, and I…could I come in?" It was that sad puppy voice that could get Mark to do anything. Right now, however, Mark was just willing a certain part of his anatomy to go limp while trying to find where he threw his boxers. He stumbled over a pile of dirty clothes, and as he found his underwear, Roger opened the door.

"Shit Roger!" Mark held the small piece of fabric over his crotch as Roger peeked through the open door.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize…wait, you sleep in the nude?" Roger asked, trying not to grin. Mark rolled his eyes and uttered and exasperated sigh.

"On occasion…like when it's hot as…" _Hot as you._ "Hot as hell outside." They both stood there for a few seconds, not looking at each other, before Mark spoke again.

"Um…could you…maybe turn around for a second?" Roger complied, but not without wondering why Mark asked. They'd known each other for a long time, shared an apartment for along time, and it's not like it was something Roger had never seen before. Still, the thought of Mark laying on the bed completely naked was not a thought that Roger was quick to push from his mind. Mark spoke again.

"Okay, uh…what was it you wanted?" Mark found his glasses on the old industrial spool that doubled as his nightstand as Roger turned back to face him. As he put on his glasses, he was shocked to see that Roger was standing timidly in his doorway, also wearing nothing but boxers.

"Um, I just…I was thinking about April, and I…I didn't want to be alone," he finished meekly. Mark immediately understood. Ever since April died, Roger had become clingy and needy, and "not wanting to be alone" essentially meant he wanted physical human contact. Not that Mark had a problem with that in the slightest.

"Oh, okay…do you want to sleep in here tonight?" The question was out before Mark realized what he'd said, but to his surprise, Roger nodded. Mark climbed back onto the bed and motioned for Roger to do the same. As Mark adjusted his pillow, Roger immediately curled up against him, and although it was steaming hot in the room, neither minded the feel of the other's skin. Roger watched Mark with a child-like innocence in his eyes as he fluffed his pillow, and just as Mark was about to lay down, his eyes caught Roger's. They both held the gaze for a few seconds, Mark marveling at the bright greenness of Roger's eyes, Roger soaking up the deep blue of Mark's. Then Roger reached out, and Mark closed his eyes, waiting, _wishing _that Roger's hand would gently brush his cheek, but Roger merely removed the glasses from Mark's face and set them on the nightstand. They both curled up facing each other, and Mark let his arm drape gently across Roger's midsection. Both closed their eyes, and unbeknownst to the other, smiled contentedly.

_I have faith in you, Mark Cohen_, Roger thought as he drifted to sleep. _More faith than I have in myself._

Mark found that sleep came quickly, but just before he drifted off, he snuggled a little closer to Roger, and wished it could be like this forever.


	3. To be held

Thanks for all the stellar reviews from everyone! I apologize for the week with no updates…3 midterms in 1 day no time to write! Here's the next chapter, you know what to do!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to the late, great, Jonathan Larson.

Mark awoke with his arm stretched across an empty bed. He had hardly dared to believe it when Roger came into his room the night before, like a little child after a nightmare, and wanted to sleep with him.

_I suppose with April and the withdrawal, he has been through some kind of nightmare._

Mark had fallen asleep in a state of absolute bliss, but now that morning had arrived and shed light on his thoughts and last night's events, he wondered about the implications of the previous night. Had he given away too much by chastely inviting Roger into his bed, by cuddling close to the rocker in attempt to comfort him? Mark wondered if he should bring it up and discuss it with Roger, or just act like it was nothing and never happened.

_He'll probably just get all pissed and defensive if I try to talk to him about it._

Just then it dawned on him that he was alone, and Roger was never one to get up before he absolutely had to. As Mark clambered from the bed and pulled some clothes from the pile and onto himself, he thought he heard some humming from the main room. Not like electrical or industrial humming, but musical, mellifluous humming. He ran a hand through his strawberry-blonde hair that was stuck to his head with sweat, and cautiously and quietly opened the door of his room.

Roger was sprawled lazily across the couch, guitar in his lap, and an open notebook in front of him on the makeshift coffee table. His eyes were closed, brow furrowed, and he was holding the back-end of an already chewed up pen in his mouth. He appeared to have just awoken shortly before Mark, because he was still only in his boxers and his hair was sticking in eighty-six different directions. Mark took a moment to admire him, so deep in concentration.

_He looks sexy when he's deep in thought. Oh hell, he looks sexy no matter what he's doing._

Trying not to disturb the songwriter-at-work, Mark crept out of his doorway and toward the kitchen. He was about halfway there when he stepped on a squeaky floorboard. The sound made him wince, and Roger immediately opened his eyes and looked up. They just looked at each other for a few seconds, in a new light after last night, and Roger was the first to break their trance.

"G'morning."

"Hey, uh…you looked like you were working, so I didn't want to disturb you."

Roger's face seemed to soften a little. "No it's okay, I just…I dunno, I woke up this morning and I had a great idea for a song, and I had to write it down." He seemed almost excited about a song inspiration, and one that Mark took to be lighter in nature, not riddled with darkness and death like his latest few had been. Mark glanced over to the old hotplate on the kitchen counter that barely worked anymore. Roger really must have just gotten up, because there was no coffee brewing on it.

_That's odd…he normally can't even function without at least one cup in him. _"Wow Rog, I'm impressed! You're up before me, writing no less, and there isn't a pot of coffee on the brew."

Roger gave Mark a death-stare before adding, "I happen to be having a good morning."

_Anything to do with me?_ Mark desperately wanted to remain optimistic, and since Roger did, in fact, seem to be in a good mood this morning, Mark ventured to bring up last night. But not before he had made two steaming mugs of coffee and set one on the coffee table in front of Roger and taken a seat next to him on the couch.

"Um, Rog, about last night…what exactly-"

"Look I'm sorry. I…I'm still dealing with…y'know, April, and…everything, and I just didn't want to be alone." Roger hoped his little lie was at least somewhat convincing, but judging by the sincerity in Mark's eyes, it had been more than believable. He felt so pathetic for constantly using April's suicide and his succeeding depression as a way of getting Mark's attention.

"Hey, it's okay, I get it, I really do. And I'm here if you ever wanna talk, or…y'know, a shoulder to cry on." Mark had begun this often-repeated litany in a soothing tone, but it trailed off to a gruff mumble when he realized that the street went both ways, and we was by no means ready to admit that to Roger. Mark wasn't ready to admit that he hadn't been held the way Roger held him, cuddled with the way Roger cuddled him, since the early days of his relationship with Maureen.

_Before it became all about the sex._

And to be honest, he missed that. Sure, fiery passion and twisted sheets was exciting, but a gentle touch, a soft caress from the person you cared so much about could send your heart racing faster than you thought possible. Mark had forgotten about that until last night.

Roger sensed that Mark was reflecting on something unhappy, and he gently set his guitar down and leaned over to embrace Mark. He had never been good at approaching these touchy subjects tactfully, but he gave it his best shot.

"You wanna talk about anything?" He almost winced after the words came out, sounding more heartless and flat than he meant them to.

_Smooth, Davis, real smooth._

He held Mark back out at arm's length, but Mark refused now to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I was just…I was thinking about Maureen." Not happy with that as an answer, Roger prodded a little deeper.

"Okay…care to elaborate on that?"

Mark felt a surge of honesty rising in him, needing to be heard, and as much as he tried to curb it for fear of letting too much slip, more than what he would have liked to say came sailing out.

"Just…it was never really about me, it was all about the sex, and then it was only about the sex, and she would just hit it and quit it, and she would never just lay there with me after, or even before, I mean the foreplay – that's not the point! And for someone who hates being alone and needs reassuring that maybe just maybe he's doing everything right, there was no caressing or sweet kisses and I missed it and forgot what it was like to just be held until last night when you-"

Mark realized he'd gone a step too far and cut himself off, but he couldn't tear his gaze from the wells of emotion that had suddenly appeared in Roger's eyes. And Roger, for the first time in a long time, since before the drugs, realized that he wasn't the only one who just wanted to be held.

More coming soon!


	4. Mark's Breakdown

I just re-read the last chapter and I think my brain was a little off when I was writing it. I suppose that's what I get for starting a chapter at 2am! Anyway, inspiration for this chapter hit me square in the head in the middle of my film midterm, and I completely spaced for about 5 minutes to work out some plot details in my head. It picks up right where the last one left off. Have at it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to the late, great, Jonathan Larson.

"Mark?"

Mark turned around so that he was facing away from Roger, and felt the hot sting in his eyes that meant tears were on their way. He'd been dumped a month before, and every night since that day, he'd lain awake, thinking of what he could have done differently to make the relationship work. And as with most hurtful memories, his dwelling on them had left some deep emotional scars, some deeper than he would have liked to admit.

_I'm not good enough. I'll just never be good enough, and I'll always end up alone._

By admitting a few of the downfalls of his and Maureen's relationship to Roger, he had briefly torn down the walls he had worked so tediously to build up, and now that they had started to crumble, they would continue to crash down around him. And he would be left open. Vulnerable. In front of his best friend, the man he-

_No. It's not love. It's just a physical attraction._

Mark closed his eyes, trying to shut the floodgates and keep the waters in. He could feel the force of the water trying to push through, so he squeezed his eyes tighter and willed himself to control his breathing.

"Mark?" Roger asked again, only this time his voice was right behind Mark. It almost startled Mark, but his deep concentration of appearing to be fine made him barely hear it. Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder, a hand with strong, calloused fingertips. Mark trembled a bit under its touch, and as it shifted a bit, another just like it came under Mark's chin and lifted it up. Reflex opened his eyes, the tears spilling down his cheeks, and he found himself looking into a pair of wide, worried, emerald eyes. A strangled sob escaped his throat, and the swift appearance of pity and deep caring in those eyes almost made Mark's heart break.

Mark turned to run to his room, but the hand on his shoulder slid down to his wrist and pulled him back. He stood once again, in front of Roger, looking at the floor in shame of the way he was acting.

"My God, what did she do to you?" Roger whispered. He had never seen Mark like this. He was fine one minute, starting into one of his rants, and all of a sudden he was broken down like a whipped dog. Seeing him like this was practically tearing Roger's heart out of his chest, and it was with complete sincerity when he reached out and wrapped Mark in his strong arms, cradling the smaller man against his still-bare chest. Mark's arms went around Roger's waist instinctively, and the feeling of security only made him sob harder into Roger's shoulder.

"Rog, she…she never really loved me…I was just some worthless piece of ass for her to fuck…"

"No, no Mark, you are not worthless! God, you…you are a kind, amazing person, and she doesn't know what she's missing…you deserve so much better than her!"

Mark pulled his head far enough away from Roger's shoulder to look him in the eye. "You mean that?" he sobbed.

Roger stared incredulously at the shattered filmmaker in his arms and replied earnestly, "With all my heart." He realized then that Mark had never really had a good cry over the breakup. He just shut off all emotion, detached, like he always did. But now, now the tears, the sobs, the heartache, they were all pouring out of him like a broken dam. Roger gently unwrapped his arms from Mark's back and led him to the couch, where they both sat down, and Roger took Mark in his embrace again. The filmmaker didn't fight it, and the tears kept coming.

"Shh, it's okay, just let it out," Roger crooned. He ran his hand through Mark's messy strawberry-blonde hair, wondering if it would have the same soothing effect on Mark as it did on himself. It appeared to, because as soon as Roger began doing it, Mark's sobs abated. Roger continued to whisper comforting words to Mark until his crying had all but stopped, and the tears he had shed were running down Roger's chest.

Now that the roles had been reversed, Roger began to understand what Mark went through on the nights during the withdrawal when Roger, body in agony from the lack of drugs, had crawled to Mark, wanting nothing more than his comfort. Roger had never really been much of the caring, comforting person, and his actions now surprised him. It almost felt good, being on the giving end of it rather than the receiving end. He stole a glance down at the filmmaker, who had calmed down some time ago but refused to release his hold on Roger's waist. He was asleep, though he still looked troubled. It didn't help matters that his cheeks were tear-streaked, and the skin around his eyes was red from crying and rubbing away tears. Something in Roger wanted to stay like this forever. Mark felt so good, so _right_ in his arms like this, and Roger slowly moved his lips to Mark's forehead to plant a small, loving kiss there. Mark stirred slightly in his sleep before being still again.

The deafening silence of the loft, combined with Roger's inability to move away from Mark, set his thoughts running marathons.

_What am I feeling? This feels so good, so perfect, part of me says to go with this, and another part of me says it's wrong. He's my best friend! But he's done so much for me, he's cared for me when I needed someone, it seems only right I should return the favor. All he wants is to be held. That's it. And I can do that, I can do something his last girlfriend couldn't – no, _refused_ to do, and it would make him happy. I have the ability to make Mark happy._

_Later that evening…_

It had been a tiring day for both boys, though they hadn't really done much of anything. After Mark had woken up in Roger's embrace (Roger noticed that as consciousness returned to Mark he smiled, but then wiped the look of happiness off of his face when he realized what happened), he had stayed close to Roger all day. Not clingy-close, but Mark followed him like a lost puppy, out to sit on the fire escape, back to the main room, into the kitchen, and when Roger finally retreated to his room with his guitar, Mark looked heartbroken. Roger had noticed the look as he closed the door, and spent the next few hours strumming at his guitar, the lyrics floating in his head waiting to be captured into song, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw Mark's face. Sometimes it was smiling, other times it was crying, but it was still Mark. Roger let that stay in his thoughts as he continued working on the song he had been composing that morning, thinking more and more with every passing minute that he should just run out to Mark and admit all of his feelings. After today's little episode, Roger wondered exactly what it was that Mark felt for him. Mark had never turned to Roger for advice or comfort before, and then all of a sudden this morning he had been crying his eyes out to him, practically begging to be cradled in an embrace that Roger knew for a fact Mark liked. He had let that much slip in his rant, and it sparked a new hope in Roger.

Roger felt his eyelids growing heavy, and a glance at his cheap watch told him why. It was 12:37am, and he had gotten up at an unprecedented hour. He put his guitar in its normal place against the wall next to his bed, and he walked out of his room for the first time in hours to go brush his teeth. He hated going to bed with all the day's nasty tastes in his mouth.

Mark was sitting on the couch, a blank look covering his face. His camera was in his hands, but he wasn't filming anything, just playing with all the little knobs and dials and cranks. At the sound of Roger's door squeaking open, he looked up hopefully. Roger smiled at him, a soft pitying smile.

"You feeling better?"

"Sorta…I don't think I'll be really better for a while."

Roger felt his heart go out to Mark for the second time that day, and not knowing what else he could do, he did the only thing he could think of.

"You could sleep in my room tonight…I mean if it would help, 'cause, y'know…I don't mind."

Mark smiled a little and nodded, and walked over to Roger's room. Roger returned in a few minutes from the bathroom to find Mark already snuggled under the covers on one side of the bed. It had cooled off dramatically from the previous night, and it was now a comfortable sleeping temperature outside.

Roger crawled into bed next to Mark and scooted closer to him. He hesitated a moment, wondering if he should do what he was thinking, but then abandoned all doubt and wrapped his arm around Mark. They were pressed together, spoon-style, Mark's back to Roger's front.

"Hey Mark?" the question came quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Um, does this make you uncomfortable at all?"

There was a pause, and Roger held his breath.

"You mean, us sleeping like this?"

"Yeah."

"No. I kinda like it."

Roger smiled a complete ear-to-ear smile that Mark couldn't see, and snuggling a little closer, replied, "Good. Me too."

Aww, how we love our boho boys! Now show some love with reviews! Next chapter up in a few days or sooner, I promise!


	5. Nightmares and confrontations

As always, thank you thank you thank you all for such great reviews! They really make my day. This chapter is setting up some AUish stuff for the next one. Go to it!

Disclaimer: I don't own. I rent.

Roger was following Mark down a street. Some street. It looked vaguely familiar. He hadn't been out of the loft in months. It felt good to get out of that dingy old place, and Roger didn't realize how much it smelled until he was breathing in the fresh air. Granted, it was New York City air, but it was still fresher than loft air. Mark turned around from the middle of the street and flashed that smile that made Roger's heart melt. That genuine smile that was all for and because of Roger, and it literally made Roger stop in his tracks.

"Come on slow-poke, at this rate we're never gonna get there!" _Wherever "there" is._

"Mark, you look so hot when you smile like that." It had to be said.

"Hm, does Roggy like?" Mark asked coyly, slowly walking toward the spot where Roger was still rooted to the ground. Roger nodded and looked up and down Mark's body hungrily. Mark continued to walk toward Roger until he was right in front of him, and standing on tiptoe, pressing against Roger's body, he whispered, "The faster we get there, the faster we get back to the loft so I can have my way with you." A little nibble on the earlobe punctuated the already loaded statement. And with that, Mark winked at Roger and skipped back out into the street. Roger watched as Mark gave him a little come-hither motion with his finger, and as Roger stepped off the curb, it happened. A Range Rover, just like the one Benny drove, came flying up the street, and before Roger had a chance to register what was happening, it barreled over Mark.

"MAAARRRKK!" Roger screamed as he rushed to his lover's side. Blood was flowing freely from a gaping wound on Mark's head, and as Roger cradled him, searching for a pulse, for any signs of life, the blood covered his hands. "MARK! NO, COME BACK!" He began sobbing hysterically, and couldn't understand why all the passers by paid no attention. "Mark, I love you! I…I can't live without you! Please! Please come back!" Roger could only hear his own voice screaming, he could smell the metallic smell of Mark's blood that was covering him and spreading into a large puddle beneath them. Then he felt a pair of hands gripping his shoulders. He looked down at Mark, but he still lay there, limp and lifeless. He couldn't see anyone around, who was shaking him?

"Roger? Roger!"

Roger's eyes snapped open to see his room in the pale pre-dawn light. Mark was kneeling over him on the bed. Roger sat up suddenly, knocking Mark off of him a little harder than he intended to, and buried his face in his hands. He was surprised to feel tears on is cheeks.

"Jesus Rog, are you ok? You were screaming!"

Roger looked at Mark, fearful eyes protected behind thick black glasses frames, as he sat next to him on the bed. _Didn't you just…you were dead!_ Then realization came back to Roger. A dream, at first good, then turning horribly bad. Roger released a sigh of relief.

"Mark…oh God…" Roger couldn't bring himself to say what had happened, what he had dreamt. Mark moved closer to Roger and wrapped his arms around him. It had been a week since Mark's breakdown, and they had slept together every night since. It was a silent understanding that they shared, both wanting the other's comfort, both not needing to ask twice for it. One would retire to bed in his own room, and the other would follow shortly, never needing to ask permission, just crawling under the blankets in various states of clothedness to cuddle up to the first. Nothing was said about it in the morning, no apologies or awkward comments were made, neither admitting to the other that this arrangement was absolute bliss.

"Roger? What happened?"

Roger was sobbing lightly, trying to get the image of a bleeding, dead Mark out of his mind, but it was haunting. It wouldn't have been nearly so bad if it was anyone else, but it was the one person he cared about more than anything. He had come to realize that much in the past week. He gulped hard, and proceeded to vocalize his worst-fear-turned-nightmare to Mark.

"You and I, we…we were walking down this street, and we were happy and going somewhere, and then…this, this Range Rover came down the street and…it…oh God…it hit you, and you were…you…it…" Roger couldn't bring himself to say it, because that would make it so much more real. Mark, however, caught the drift, and only held Roger tighter, rocking him back and forth a little. Roger sobbed a little again. "It felt so real…I could feel your skin, I could smell the blood, even the air smelled better than this dump…"

"Shh, hey, it's okay, it was just a dream, I'm still here…I'll always be here."

"You promise?" Roger sounded like a scared little kid again.

"I promise, I will never leave you." _I swear Roger, from the bottom of my heart, with every fiber of my being, I will always be here for you._ "Come on, it's still too early, let's go back to sleep."

Roger clung tightly to Mark, never wanting to let go, and Mark laid down with his arms still wrapped around Roger's midsection. Mark quickly fell back asleep, but the terrors of that night were still with Roger, and he knew sleep would not return easily. He watched Mark as he slept, his deep, slow breathing, occasionally a light snore, the two of them just laying so peacefully enfolded in each other. As Roger set his head back on the pillow, he whispered softly, "I love you, Mark Cohen."

Collins trudged up the last flight of stairs to the dingy old loft. It might smell bad, half the time there was no power, and there was never any heat, but it was the place he called home. It was a bohemian's paradise, not to mention his two closest friends lived there. He reached the heavy metal door to the loft and gripped the handle. As always, it was unlocked, though seeing as they had nothing of value to steal, other than maybe Mark's camera or Roger's guitar, there was no point in locking it. He turned the handle and slid the door back. Without even bothering to notice the lack of people in the living room, he bellowed, "Happy fourth of July bitches!"

His voice resonated around the room. "Lazy bums…" he muttered to himself.

Mark and Roger's eyes opened in the same instant at the sound of a familiar bass voice in the loft.

_Shit. How are we gonna talk ourselves out of this one?_ Mark didn't want to give anything away about his feelings for Roger, least of all to Collins. But there was no way the philosopher would completely ignore the fact that both boys were stumbling out of the same room, scantily clad, obvious that they both had just woken up.

They both sprung from the bed, Roger with his hand on the doorknob, before Mark could protest. He flung the door open and stormed out, half mad at the intrusion, half happy to see his old friend again.

"Thomas, you had better have a good explanation for busting in here at this ungodly hour of-" he checked his watch, which completely took all the wind out of his sails, "um, 1:28," the last part mumbled in embarrassment.

"Yes, ungodly hour indeed," the sarcasm dripped from his voice. "Maybe if you could get up before the day was half over, you might be able to get a job and get some food in this place!" Collins yelled as he opened every cupboard in the kitchen, revealing a half-eaten box of Cap'n Crunch, a mostly empty jar of peanut butter, a bag of lima beans that he was pretty sure had been here since he had moved in, and a box of extremely stale saltine crackers. He then turned to Roger, cracked one of his famous smiles, and opened his arms for a brotherly hug. "Haha! You know I'm just messin'! How's my favorite rocker? And where's that camera-carrying counterpart of yours?"

Mark took this as his cue to wander out of Roger's room, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "You know, you could give us more warning before you just show up Collins."

Collins stared incredulously at the scene before him, wondering if his last joint was coming back to haunt him. Was he really seeing both of these boys strolling out of the same room, both fresh from sleep, and both in their boxers and undershirts? He blinked hard before reassessing the situation, but it hadn't changed. Mark, trying to avoid confrontation, slipped into the bathroom, and Collins waited until he heard the shower to begin talking again.

"Sooo-ho, old Roggy's finally sprung the moves on Marky. I'm impressed man, I didn't think you had it in you."

"What? I…oh, I guess it sorta does look like that, doesn't it?" Collins was now thoroughly confused, as made evident to Roger by his expression.

"You…didn't spring any moves?"

"No, no…it, this little sleeping arrangement…I dunno, it just sort of happened. Mark was really depressed about a week ago, about Maureen, y'know…and he was mopey all day, and he looked so pitiful, so I asked him if he wanted to sleep in my room, and…well, that's basically it."

"Basically it?! That was a week ago! How does that get us here?"

"Um…I'm not really sure, I mean he would just follow me to bed, or…I'd…follow him…"

"And you never talk about the fact that, oh, y'know, you're just two supposedly heterosexual men who happen to be sleeping together in your underwear?"

Roger thought about the statement for a few seconds. Put like that, it did seem odd. "No, we…we just don't talk about it. I mean we don't ignore it, but…there's nothing about it that needs talking about!"

Collins looked sternly at Roger. "Boy, there's everything that needs talking about! You need to tell him! What are you so afraid of? What is the worst that could _possibly_ happen? You're already sleeping together, I'd take that as a pretty good sign from him that he's not opposed to you guys going somewhere."

Collins had a good point. Mark couldn't act like he hated Roger, not with things going as they were. Roger's mind raced back to that moment a week ago when Mark had admitted that he liked to be held by Roger. If he liked being held, how many more levels of comfort could Roger offer that mark would like? He hoped quite a few.

Just then, Mark emerged from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, padding toward his room.

"Uh, I'm just gonna get dressed. Did you have any plans for today Collins, or were you just gonna wait till our usual Fourth tradition of getting piss-ass drunk while watching fireworks?"

"Oh, we've got plans!" Mark noticed he put an emphasis on the "we." "Yeah, we're going to the Life for dinner tonight, number one because both of you are need to get some real food in you, and number two because we're meeting a friend of mine there at 6."

"Oh, a 'friend' is it?" Roger piped up.

"Yes, and I think you will like her! She's a lot of fun."

Roger was just about to remind Collins that he was gay, but then he heard a beeper going off on the kitchen counter.

"Take your AZT," Mark said absentmindedly. Collins just shook his head and smiled. He didn't care what kind of crap they tried to tell him about their sexual orientations and baggage, those two boys were perfect for each other.

Oooh! Meeting Collins' friend, drunk bohos, and the inhibition brought on by alcohol…just a preview of chapter 6! Reviews are love!


	6. July 4th

Hey everyone! Life's been crazy, hence the lack of updates. I've been home for winter break for a week now and this is the first chance I've found to write, though this chap's been in the works for about a month now…I'm piecing it together little by little. Some AU going on in here, but nothing that I think anyone will be opposed to :-). Also, a little part later in the chapter was inspired by one of my favorite episodes of "Friends."

Roger stood in the doorway. He wanted to leave, he really did, but his voluntary house arrest for the past few months was preventing him. Leaving the loft for the first time since April died would mean he was moving on, that he was no longer wallowing in the misery of her death, his disease, the withdrawal.

_But I'm over her._

A gentle hand perched itself on Roger's shoulder, and it was accompanied by a reassuring voice. "You don't have to go if you don't want. We can just get carry-out or something."

Roger sighed. Thank God for Mark. The fact that he was so understanding made Roger's heart cry for him.

"No, I'm ready. I've been in here too long, I'm ready to go out." He turned to face the filmmaker, who was smiling widely. The look coaxed a similar smile from Roger, who took a deep breath, turned around, and stepped over the threshold. The dark hallway seemed to be mocking him, the cobwebs and holes in the walls daring him to take a step further, to actually go through with it. He put one foot in front of the other, then picked up the second to place it in front of the first, and so on until he reached the stairs. He stopped for a second, almost forgetting what it was like to descend them, before picking up his foot and setting it down on the first step. His second foot lifted and found the second step. His first foot was going for the third step when Mark's voice stopped him.

"Oh! Jump that one. I forgot, it broke since you last left."

Roger smiled inwardly and let his foot fall awkwardly onto the fourth step, and feeling the rush of moving down and out, took the rest of the stairs two at a time. When he reached the street level and stepped out onto the sidewalk, he smiled with wonder in his eyes. Alphabet City had not changed a bit. He turned to watch Mark stumble down the stairs, and when the filmmaker saw the grin on Roger's face, he broke out with one to match it.

"I'm proud of you, I really am." Overwhelmed with sudden emotion at having something of a normal life back, Roger wrapped his arms around Mark's neck and hugged the filmmaker, as he felt Mark's skinny arms find a hold around Roger's waist.

"Thanks for believing in me," Roger whispered into Mark's ear. Mark smiled against the musician's shoulder, wanting so badly to just pull their lips together in a gentle kiss. Before he was ready, Roger was pulling away from him, and Mark almost felt a pang of sadness before it was washed away by the sight of Roger skipping down the street.

_Skipping. Like a leprechaun or something_.

"Um, Rog?"

"Yeah?" The rocker was all smiles.

"The Life is this way," Mark giggled, as he pointed the opposite direction up the street.

Within minutes, the boys were entering the Life Café, Roger still gaping in wonder at his surroundings and Mark scanning the café patrons for a sign of Collins. Over the top of a booth in the back, he recognized a familiar beanie on the head of an African-American man, and next to it was a head of shiny black hair. Mark tugged Roger's wrist in the direction of their table and slid into the booth across from Collins and his lady-friend.

Mark couldn't help but think she was pretty. She had shoulder-length black hair that complemented her dark, Hispanic skin and chocolate eyes. Still, there was something out of place about her, and Mark couldn't figure out what it was. She had a cheerful air about her, Mark could tell that right away, and she sat very close to Collins while talking in hushed tones and giggling. Roger slid in next to Mark and was not paying attention, because he kept sliding and bumped into him, his hand accidentally grazing Mark's thigh, before he muttered an apology and slid a few inches away.

Collins and his friend smiled at Mark and Roger, and just as Collins opened his mouth to speak, his friend cut him off. She extended a hand to Mark, a very masculine hand, and it was then that Mark realized what seemed so out of place about her. She was a he.

"Hi," she greeted cheerfully. "I'm Angel. You must be Mark, Tommy's told me all about you," she- _he? What pronoun does one use for a drag queen?_ said, shaking his hand.

"Woah woah woah, _Tommy?!_" Leave it to Roger to make an ass of himself as a first impression. He raised his eyebrows and smirked as Collins, who turned his head away to hide the color creeping into his cheeks. On the rare occasion that anyone called Collins by his first name, it took the form of Thomas, and even then was usually in jest.

"And you must be Roger!" She squealed. "Tommy certainly has a knack for descriptions, but I had you pictured as a bit more…brooding," her voice fell to what was probably its natural pitch, a low tenor. Roger did a double-take, and Mark and Collins chuckled as they saw that Roger, once again, was the last to catch on.

"Oh don't worry, you caught him on an _exceptionally_ good day," Mark informed Angel. "Brooding musician would be fairly accurate 99 percent of the time."

Collins finally spoke up, having not been able to get a word in around Angel's greetings. "Well it's good to see the brooding musician finally out of the loft! It's about time you dragged his sorry ass out of there, Mark."

It was Roger's turn to look sheepish as he replied to Collins. "Well, it had been long enough…I guess I was ready to get out, I've wasted enough of my life already."

"No day but today, honey." Angel reached across the table to stroke Roger's arm, which seemed to weird him out a little. Roger had never done well around drag queens and cross-dressers, claming that the ambiguity of their gender was confusing and awkward. Mark, on the other hand, admired them for being able to take something so definite as human gender, and blur the lines of distinction so that they could be anything they wanted.

Without further ado, Collins ordered a round of beers for the table, and shortly they were all enjoying a delicious meal and the good company of friends. A few drinks later saw dusk approaching, and since the group had occupied the table for nearly 3 hours and annoyed the waiters with their boisterous conversation (mostly boisterous due to Collins), they decided to avoid certain confrontation by leaving. Once outside, Collins turned to Mark and Roger.

"Well boys, it just wouldn't be the 4th of July without our traditional celebration. So why don't you take Angel back to the loft, show her around a bit, and get everything set up while I pick up some…refreshments."

Mark and Roger snickered, knowing what sort of refreshments Collins had in mind, while Angel just smiled innocently.

"Okay honey, we'll see you in a little bit," Angel said as she gave Collins a quick kiss. Turning around, she linked arms with Mark and Roger and began chattering away about something while dragging them away, even though she had no idea where the loft was. Collins chuckled under his breath. He set off in the opposite direction, toward the nearest liquor store. Unbeknownst to the boys, he had explained the situation to Angel, and the two were setting into action a plan that would, hopefully, bring Mark to the realization that he loved Roger, and get Roger to admit his feelings. Collins had full confidence in Angel, she really was a very clever girl.

The arguing from the fire escape could be heard a block away. As Collins rounded the corner, brown paper bag full of Stoli in hand, he wondered who was making such a racket. His eyes searched for the source of the disruption, and when they landed on three people and a couch on the fire escape of Mark and Roger's building, he knew they were in over their heads.

Balanced precariously on the railing and stairs of the fire escape was the old couch. Mark was wedged half underneath it, stuck between the arm of the couch and the stair railing. Roger was holding up the opposite end of the couch while Angel stood behind him yelling directions.

"Mark, lift up your end! Now Roger, pivot! PIV-OT!!!

"I'm pivoting! This thing isn't going anywhere!"

"No Rog, move your side- ah! No, go back, you're squashing me!"

Collins laughed loud enough to draw their attention from the couch to his position on the street below.

"If you think you can do better, why don't you get up here and help us!" Roger yelled in frustration.

"I'll be up momentarily, I think I see a way out of this predicament!" Collins yelled up before crossing the street. This was going to be an interesting night, no doubt about it.

A half hour later, the couch found its way to the rooftop, four bodies squished onto it, and each of its occupants had a cup of Stoli in hand. Dark had fallen on the city, and fireworks erupted all over the horizon in celebration of the 4th.

"What a great holiday," Collins exclaimed. "How many countries celebrate their nation's birthday by blowing things up?" The alcohol was starting to get to him, evident by the volume of his voice.

Roger, jammed in between Collins and Mark on the couch, hadn't looked away from one particular point on the skyline in minutes. His foot was tapping impatiently on the rooftop, and every so often he took a swig of the Stoli in his hand.

"Um, you waiting for something in particular, Rog?" Mark asked, jerking Roger out of his reverie.

"Sorta, there's some place over there that always has the best fireworks, and I don't wanna miss them." There was such a child-like innocence in him at that moment that Mark couldn't help staring at his face. The features didn't seem like they belonged to a wannabe rock star who was just coming out of withdrawal, but rather a child, experiencing fireworks for the first time.

Half-hypnotized by Roger, Mark simply said "Judging by the way you're staring, I don't think you'll miss a thing." He was unaware of how easily the phrase could be applied to him as well, but Collins, ever the people observer, picked up on it. He nudged Angel and discreetly pointed to the other two, Roger lost in the horizon, and Mark lost in Roger. She smiled coyly at him, and he knew she was formulating a brilliant idea.

Without a moment's hesitation, Angel threw herself onto Collins. "Oh Tommy, it's so romantic up here, I just love it!" Collins was knocked sideways into Roger, who fell practically into Mark's lap. He reached out a hand to the armrest of the couch, breaking his fall, but his hand landed directly on top of Mark's hand, also bracing himself against the armrest. The two locked eyes, neither bothering to move their hand away from the others, and for a moment in time they were both lost in each other, gazing into the other man's soul. Angel and Collins smiled, as they knew what was going through each boy's head, and Angel leaned up to lovingly peck Collins on the cheek.

Mark was the first to move, tearing his gaze away from those emerald eyes and glancing around the horizon, pretending to look for fireworks but really restraining himself from doing something he might regret.

_His eyes, how do they do that to me? I feel like I'm looking through a window into heaven, and I just want to take all of that heaven right now and show it the true meaning of 'no greater love.'_

Roger felt that tugging feeling in his chest, the one where it felt like a string was wrapped around his heart, and whenever he looked into Mark's eyes or witnessed a true Mark smile, someone on the other end started pulling on it. How could he be so close to someone- they were squished next to each other on the couch, not by accident, Roger guessed- but still be so far away? He heard a snicker from his other side and glanced over to see Collins and Angel giggling like mad, sharing a bottle of Stoli and sweet little kisses.

_May as well follow suit,_ he thought, and picking up a bottle of the liquor, downed a huge gulp. _At least the drunk part, if I can only dream about loving kisses._

The colorful explosions had long disappeared from the sky, but the four bohemians still sat on the broken down old couch, sagging more than ever, and drunkenly tried to make conversation.

"Okay, here's one. Have you ever…sunk or drober, have you ever kissed another man?"

Collins was amazed at the way Angel could still be scheming to get Roger and Mark together. He had long given up little tricks, afraid that in his drunken state he might blurt the whole thing out before the plot was ripe. Angel, however, was much too clever to let a little thing like inebriation get in the way of her determination.

Mark's heavy eyelids snapped open, and he tried to stand up, got halfway there, and fell backwards, mostly onto Roger, who just couldn't stop giggling.

"Nooooooo, but- hic- I've **thought** about it," as he tried to stand again.

"Whooo? Marky, are you…" Here her voice lowered to a whisper. "Are you gay?"

His eyes went blank as he cocked his head to one side, as if the thinking process stopped halfway. After a few seconds he spoke.

"I don' think so, but…if I- hic- **thought** about kissing somebody…I mean a guy, like Roger, does that make me…" Here his voice dropped to a whisper as well. "Does that make me gay?"

"Maybe…" she whispered.

"Okay," Mark whispered back, "but don't tell Collins."

Collins, of course, could hear the whole exchange, and roared with laughter at Mark's last statement.

"Colliiiiiins, you weren't a-sposed to hear!" Mark whined.

"What? That you've thought about kissing ol' Roger over there?" Collins couldn't help but get in on the scheming.

"Nuh-UH! I din' say…" Mark stopped, his mouth hanging open, and then his eyes got big, realizing what he'd admitted seconds before. His cheeks turned beet red, and having nothing more to say, hung his head.

Even through his drunken state, Roger could maintain some logical thought process. Now, his logic was kicking into full gear, as he pieced together what had just played out before his eyes.

_Did Mark just say he'd thought about kissing me? And he wasn't sure if he was gay? If he's thought about kissing me, that means he's not completely tuned off by the thought…and if I were to kiss him, he might like it?_

Realization struck like a brick to the head, but Roger knew that drunken confessions would get him nowhere. Judging by Mark's movements and the number of times he'd nearly fallen asleep off the end of the couch, he was not likely to remember much of this tomorrow, if any of it. That would be the time to strike.

"Hey Roooooooger, you hear the scrawny kid? He's thought about kissing you, just like you told me you thought about kissing him too…" Roger gave Collins a look that clearly said 'Shut the fuck up before I shut you up,' but Collins was too far gone to care. "Marky, you oughtsta kiss Roggy next chance you get cause he's in all loooooove with you!"

Mark looked up confusedly at the sky for a moment before turning his gaze on Roger. What Roger saw both scared and excited him. Those were not the glazed eyes of a person in a blackout. Those were the alert eyes of a person who was absorbing all that was happening around him. Those eyes registered understanding. Clarity. Belief.

That string on Roger's heart was getting yanked like it was tug-of-war, because above all else, Mark's eyes registered a long waited-for happiness.

Love it? Hate it? Think drunk!Collins reminds you of your cousin Jed? Tell me! Reviews are amazing…next chapter will be up when life allows me to finish a very fluffy and romantic chapter…you know you're looking forward to it!


	7. Wanting this

Hello all my wonderful readers! Found little bits of time to get this chapter done, I'm not sure how (I worked retail during the crazy Christmas shopping season…somebody shoot me…and now I'm back at college with a new job on top of it, so life's been a little hectic). Thanks for so many great reviews on the last chapter, they made my days! Yes days, because they were rather spread out over time, and chapter 6 has had the most reviews of any chapter so far! OK, I've rambled enough, so without further ado, here is the chapter you've all been waiting for!

Since I forgot the disclaimer on the last chapter, here's two: It's not mine, it's Jonathan Larson's. It's not mine, it's Jonathan Larson's.

xxxxx

Mark awoke and immediately regretted it. His head was pounding, thanks to a massive hangover, and the light streaming through the window seemed to be so intensely bright that it made his headache twice as bad. As he squeezed his eyes shut again, he realized that he didn't quite remember how he got to wherever it is that he now was. Without opening his eyes again, he assessed his location. A strong, heavy arm was holding him tightly around the waist, and he could feel something breathing against the back of his neck. He almost panicked, but then remembered where he had woken up every morning for the past week or so, and the panic was replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. It was Roger's arm around his waist and Roger's breath against his neck, so he was most likely in Roger's room, in Roger's bed.

_In Roger's bed. I wish the connotation that usually accompanies that phrase applied here. No, I'm not **sleeping** with my best friend, we're just slumbering on the same mattress, under the same sheets, giving me more sexual frustration than sexual comfort._

Although, Roger's arm holding so tightly to Mark was somewhat comforting. Mark snuggled back under the covers and closer to Roger, if that was even possible, and tried to remember what had happened last night. The Life, dragging the couch to the roof –_Oh crap, we're gonna have to go bring it back down_-, Stoli, fireworks, more Stoli, lots of giggling, and things starting to get fuzzy from there.

_Wait, there was something about kissing…Angel asking me something, and then there's fuzziness, and then me and Roger staring at each other. Was it Angel asking me something about kissing, or the other way around? I don't remember kissing anybody…but why is staring at Roger the next thing I remember? Did Collins make some convoluted joke about male sexuality preferences? Ugh, must…try…to…remember…wait, something about kissing and being gay? Is that right? Or does kissing make one gay? Or maybe it was about kissing someone, like Roger…_

And suddenly memory came flooding back to Mark. He had admitted to thinking about kissing Roger. His heart started racing and he forced his eyes open, despite the bright light. Not only had he admitted it, but Roger had heard it! His only hope was that Roger had consumed enough Stoli to clog his memory and he wouldn't recall that particular piece of information that Mark had so unwisely decided to share.

Mark cautiously crawled out from under Roger's arm and stumbled from the room. He headed straight for the bathroom medicine cabinet to retrieve some aspirin for his headache, and chased the pills with a few huge gulps of cold water. He stared at the reflection in the mirror, his face looking tired but flush. He needed to think. He had to have a plan if Roger remembered what had been said last night. Mark headed for the fire escape, and noticed that the couch was back in the main room with a note attached.

**Morning boys! Hope you had a fun night (wink wink). You owe us big for bringing this piece of junk back in for you at such an ungodly hour. Call us later. –Collins & Angel.**

_Wink wink?! What is that supposed to mean?_

Mark launched himself out the window that Collins and Angel had left open and onto the fire escape balcony, where he had a lot of thinking and planning to do.

xxxxx

Roger awoke with a headache similar to Mark's, but much less sharp. As he pried his eyes open, he realized that his arm, which had been clinging to Mark all night, was clinging to an empty sheet.

_Mark._ _Last night he said he wanted to kiss me. Now he's gone?_

After Mark's revelation the previous night, and the wide-eyed staring match between the two boys, Mark had simply passed out. That's it. Staring at Roger one moment, flopped on the arm of the couch the next.

_There's no way he could remember what happened. I'm so stupid. But still, what if it wasn't the alcohol talking, what if he really has wanted to kiss me and it was just the alcohol taking away all better judgment and inhibition?_

Clambering out of bed and untangling himself from the bedsheets, Roger followed the exact same route Mark had minutes before, stumbling into the bathroom for some aspirin and gulping down some cold water. He then moved onto the next step of the hangover remedy: coffee. Switching on the decrepit coffee pot, Roger pulled a mug out of the cabinet. A flash of movement by the window caught his eye, and he was relieved to see Mark sitting on the fire escape, feet dangling off the edge. Roger pulled another mug from the cabinet and shortly filled both up with the steaming, bitter liquid.

Roger carefully climbed through the open window, making sure not to spill any coffee, and greeted Mark with what was a fairly normal greeting.

"Hey." He offered a mug to Mark, who smiled and gladly accepted it. They sipped in silence for a few minutes, each waiting for the combination of aspirin and caffeine to take effect and chase away the hangover symptoms. A thousand thoughts swirled through Roger's head, but before his mind was made up, his tongue took over.

"So, how much of last night do you remember?"

xxxxx

Mark's heart started racing for the second time that morning. He definitely hadn't had sufficient time to come up with a story or an excuse, so he answered as vaguely as possible. "I'm not really sure, parts of it are still coming back to me." It wasn't a complete lie, but he'd been awake long enough to remember everything that was going to be remembered without the aid of stories or hypnosis. "What about you?"

Roger thought for a minute before answering. He could keep Mark guessing, or he could start putting things out in the open. He chose the latter.

"Everything. Didn't quite have enough Stoli in me to black out."

Mark thought his heart was going to thunder its way out of his chest and down over the edge of the fire escape. _He remembers everything. He heard everything._ Mark squeezed his eyes shut and gulped, then forced out a chuckle.

"So, ah… yeah, I say some pretty crazy things when I'm that crunked. Kinda makes my brain work a little different, ya know?"

"How different?" Roger wasn't giving this up without a fight. "Like, 'I'm thinking things I would normally never think' different, or 'Things are making more sense this way' different?"

"Well, you know, a little of both, but things did seem to be making a lot of sense last night." Mark glanced hopefully at Roger to find those emerald eyes locked on him, and all of a sudden he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Mark," Roger began, his brow slightly furrowed as if he was in some sort of confusing pain, "exactly what do you remember from last night? I'm talking details."

_Shit, here it comes. He hates me. He never wants to speak to me again. He'll kick me out, I'm toast. _"Um, well, I remember it getting dark, and you looking out over at one spot in the sky and saying the people over there always had a really good display. And I remember Collins making a toast to explosions and finishing off the first bottle, and then things start going in and out."

"Anything from later? Once the fireworks stopped?"

Mark was bracing himself for the worst. _He just wants to hear me say it. He wants me to soberly admit it, and then all Hell will break loose._ _May as well get it over with._

"Uh, I remember, kind of…giggling with Angel about something…and we were whispering, and then it sort of goes blank, and then the last thing I remember is staring at you." Mark couldn't bring himself to say it, out loud, so he hoped Roger would buy the innocent little lie.

"Do you know what you were laughing about? What you said?"

Mark felt like he was being lectured like a kindergartener, and in combination with his still-throbbing head, it was enough to send him over the edge.

"God, YES! I remember what I said! I said I'd thought about kissing you! I'm not proud of it, Roger, so please stop questioning me!" Mark screamed.

Roger winced as the torrent of words flew at him, and once Mark had exhausted his frustration, Roger looked a little bit hurt. Afraid that it had, in fact, been the alcohol talking, Roger asked one last question to put his mind at ease. "So is it true then? You've…you've thought about it?"

Mark took a few deep breaths before replying. "Yes, I've thought about it. I'm sorry. God, this makes everything…maybe I should just go." The words rushed out, and before Roger had comprehended everything that was said, Mark was striding toward the door, camera in hand.

"Mark, wait! Can't we talk about this?"

"What's there to talk about? Everything is gonna be awkward now, so I…I'll just find another place, and I understand if you never want to see me or speak to me again. Just know that this friendship, it means…_meant_, a lot to me."

Roger was overcome with emotion, and was not willing to let Mark get any closer to the door. "Mark, what happened? Yesterday morning you promised you'd never leave, and now you're hell-bent on getting out the door?"

Mark gulped and looked down without replying. Roger continued.

"What if I told you things wouldn't be weird? What if…" Roger's voice got very small, "what if we could make this work?"

Mark was utterly confused, and the look in Roger's gorgeous green eyes was one of hurt, one that Mark had not seen since they lost April. "Seeing as how you like girls, I really don't see how that is possible," he muttered.

Roger gently took a step forward, a step closer to Mark, so that there were only inches between them. Cautiously, not making any sudden movements for fear of Mark scampering away like a jackrabbit, Roger brought his hand up to caress the strawberry-blonde hair above Mark's ear. Mark's eyes became locked on Roger's, and he watched in wonder as the taller boy smiled ever so tenderly before replying.

"Who ever said anything about me only liking girls?" Mark's eyes widened in amazement, but soon snapped shut as soft lips blanketed his own. The kiss was soothing and unobtrusive, and after only seconds, Mark pulled back to stare again at Roger, this time looking for explanation.

"You…" Mark touched his own lips in wonder, his eyes slightly out of focus, and Roger chuckled lightly. The filmmaker blinked a few times before gazing into Roger's eyes. "You wanted this too…" Neither were sure if it was a question or a statement, but before either of them had a chance to consider it, they were locked together at the lips again.

It was like a firestorm in Mark's brain. Everything seemed to be searing with heat and desire and above all, the knowledge that Roger wanted to feel the heat as much as he himself did. Mark fervently pushed Roger against the wall and was pretty sure he felt Roger smile against his lips. Hands held and brushed through hair, arms held tightly to anything they could grab. Lips pressed against lips, tongues caressed tongues, and for a few fleeting moments, they were one person, locked together in fiery passion. Mark couldn't tell which body parts belonged to him and which to Roger, and the surge of emotion left him dizzy and weak at the knees.

_I wonder how many fan girls have felt like this without even kissing him…No, I've definitely got a better deal than them._

Mouths broke apart, but every other body part still clung to each other, not wanting to let go.

_I never want to let go._

Roger leaned their foreheads together as they smiled blissfully and said the only thing he could think to say.

"You can't possibly imagine how long I've wanted to do that."

And to his joy came Mark's response: "You can't possibly imagine how much I think I love you."

xxxxx

A/N: Eep! I'm so giddy from having written this! I know it's been a while between updates, but I have good reason. Most of my chapters are written bit at a time as I get ideas and inspiration. When I write without inspiration, the result is crap, and I owe it to you guys and myself to not write and post crap when I can do much better, even if it takes a while longer. So bear with my delays, and remember quality over quantity! Reviews would make my day.


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